


Sprinkles

by Goto



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Also drunk Momota & Iruma, Alternate Universe - Non-Despair (Dangan Ronpa), Fluff, M/M, Oma Kokichi Being Oma Kokichi, Oma Kokichi Is a Little Shit, One Shot, Party, Pranks, saiouma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-20
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-18 09:01:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29487156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Goto/pseuds/Goto
Summary: Cowering in the dark and smelling like someone’s third DUI, this was the last time Saihara was going to let Momota drag him to a party.Things didn’t get any better when he accidentally listened in on a certain organization’s diabolical plan to destroy the party. An evil, sickly sweet plan...
Relationships: Oma Kokichi/Saihara Shuichi
Comments: 3
Kudos: 27





	Sprinkles

Nauseating were the lights that flickered a mess of colors on repeat. The drone of some song underlaid the sea of voices that seemed to distort into a bundle of indistinct noise, a grating but unavoidable stimulation to his ears— as was the alcohol which permeated through the air and into his nose. From the moment he arrived, Shuichi Saihara resigned himself to a corner, tucking into the edges of the room in some vain attempt to conserve his social battery. He didn’t have a problem with excluding himself though, he found that observing the partygoers was a much more interesting pastime.

Saihara watched as a man with purple hair and matching jacket poked sore from amongst the crowd, his voice distinct as he staggered over to him.

“Heyyy! There’s my wingmannn!” the man slurred out as he clapped a hand onto Saihara’s shoulder, trying to regain his balance. “I was lookin’ everywhere for youuu. Don’t * _burrrp_ * run off on me like that.”

“I... haven’t moved spots, Momota-kun,” Saihara replied, resisting the urge to pinch his nose shut from the stench of liquor that came off of the man.

Momota appeared dazed. He connected his gaze to Saihara’s, but he just stared straight through him. Despite what he boasted, the self-proclaimed astronaut couldn’t hold his alcohol for anything, which didn’t help Saihara’s situation as that was his ride to and from the party—merely prolonging his stay at a place he didn’t even want to be at, with people he had no desire to interact with. Saihara began to strategize on how to sneak his friend’s drink away before feeling a tug at his arms.

“C’monnn, stop moping around! We need’a get ya out there! I didn’t bring you allll the way over here just for youuu to sit on the sidelines!”

The barrage of pleas from Saihara fell on drunken ears as the crowd enveloped them both. He trembled as the music grew louder and invasive, the speakers vibrating through the floor and up his body. He couldn’t detect Momota’s grip on him anymore, the nerves forming in his stomach as his vision became filled with unfamiliar faces. The lights’ relentless flashing increased Saihara’s sense of helplessness and dread—the overexposure suffocating him.

A sudden surge of energy compelled him to sphere head through the first gap of people he saw, only to stumble face first into someone’s ample chest.

“What the fuck!?” the voice shouted at him. Blood shot up to Saihara’s face as he reeled back, locking eyes with none other than Miu Iruma. “Huh? You’re actin’ _real_ fuckin’ cocky comin’ onto me like that, Pooichi!”

“N-No! I—”

“I don’t wanna hear ya spewin’ out yer bullshit excuses! To think you had a chance to get with a beautiful blonde goddess like me is hilarious! Hah-hahahaha!”

“L-Listen, I don’t—”

“Why are you even here? You better not of crashed my party just to steal all the booze, limp dick!” Iruma spat, her gaze turning as harsh as the words leaving her intoxicated mouth.

 _Wait, this is her party!?_ Saihara thought, his head spinning as things started to make more sense to him. He failed to reply, his throat becoming too dry to cough up a defense. No wonder he felt a pang of unease the second he walked through the door.

“What? Cock got yer tongue?” Iruma’s stance became indignant as she hoisted one of her arms up, drink in hand. “Maybe take those detective skills and ‘detect’ when yer not fuckin’ wanted!”

A shiver shot down Saihara’s spine, feeling the contents of her drink douse every strand of his hair, every stitch of his clothes—the abrupt smell of alcohol causing him to retch. He stood frozen in space, pairs of eyes tranquilizing each muscle in his body while his mind screamed at him to run, run. Bowing his head, Saihara bolted, rapidly weaving past any feet he saw. He didn’t dare crane his head back up for fear of the judgmental stares returning him to stone.

Saihara then took a sharp turn and raced up the stairs in some desperate hope that there would be a deserted room he could seek refuge. He swung open the door to the laundry room and slammed it shut; it was the only place he managed to find where he could finally be alone. Unclenching his fists, Saihara undug his nails and drew out the breath he’s been holding. Best thing he needed right now was time, to unwind the tension in his body and to slow his thoughts.

Raising his head, his eyes followed the incision of light the door let in. Multiple footsteps were heard pounding on the staircase, but Saihara quickly tuned the noise out, his attention directed at the squared-shaped depression above him.

_Huh…?_

Tilting his head to one side, his thoughts mulled over the strange looking spot. His curiosity refused to satisfy, so he pulled himself on top of the washing machine, kneeling as he straightens the upper half of his body and presses the squared indent, causing it to lift past the ceiling.

_An attic…_

“…-chan! Saiharrra-chaaan!” a voice sang out.

Startled, Saihara nearly doubled over as a male’s voice rammed itself into his train of thought, the mere mention of his name causing the humiliating events to resurface. Saying that Saihara needed more time was an understatement. He couldn’t imagine bracing the crowd right now, maybe not ever, and so he scrambled to his feet and pulled himself up into the attic.

Saihara put the slab back but left a slit behind to remember where his exit was. Out of nowhere his hand started to itch, his first instinct was to scratch it before the itch began to _crawl up his arm_. He sucked in his breath; a millisecond before he screamed, the door opened.

“C’mon, hurry!” the same voice from earlier said in a hushed tone.

“Yeah yeah, we’re comin’,” another voice replied.

“N-No one saw us… right?” someone else asked, this one higher in pitch and barely audible.

“No, we’re fine,” a fourth and final voice answered, resonating the deepest tone within the group.

At this point, Saihara clamped his other hand over his mouth while feeding his suspicions as he peered through the tiny opening. The light in the room was now flicked on, but he only got to see a small portion of someone’s head—their purple curls swaying to their theatrics.

_O-Ouma-kun?_

“Okay. So you two will stay at the perimeter and when Spade gives the signal, Club you’ll go and cut the lights. Braids and I will stay here and work our magic,” Ouma explained.

“Sounds good to me,” the deepest voice said, sounding indifferent.

“Alright! Can’t wait to hear them cry for their mommies once I nix the electricity!” the other male snickered.

“Okay…” a voice squeaked out.

“Then it’s settled! Now, to your stations everyone!” Ouma ordered them. The shuffling of feet seemed to dissipate as Saihara leaned forward on the slab to purchase a better bird’s eye view.

Everyone had now left except Ouma, resting his back against the far side of the wall, one leg crossed as the silence embraced them both. But that didn’t last as long as Saihara wished it did. The itch reappeared at the crook of his neck this time, his scream instantaneous with the slab collapsing from his weight, sending him crashing through the ceiling—giving his bones a harsh welcome to the metal machines below.

“Urgh…” Saihara groaned, the pain surging through him as he stirred.

Saihara shot his eyes open, a violet blur capturing his vision. The features sharpened to reveal Ouma gawking at the man sent from above; his brain appearing to process what had just happened.

“Hi, Ouma-kun... I didn’t expect you to be here,” Saihara said, failing to make the air around them any less awkward.

“I should say the same to you, Saihara-chan!” Ouma quipped, snapping out of his daze. “I asked god for a soulmate, but I didn’t think he’d actually deliver!” He flashed a smile, a smile that was brimming at the seams with joy and mischief.

He wanted to roll his eyes, but he was too exhausted to properly express his snark. “I’m just… waiting here until I can leave. It’s gonna be hours before Momota-kun finally sobers up.”

“So he was your ride huh? That’s so sad, it almost brings a tear to my eye!” Ouma lied. “Oh! Hey, Saihara-chan! Hey! Hey! I got something you can do while you’re stuck in this miserable dump!”

“If it’s to involve me with your premeditated crime, then no way.”

“Aww what? Bah, you’re sooo lame, Saihara-chan.” Ouma’s expression turned into a pout, crossing his arms to really stretch the dramatics. “And it’s not a crime, it’s a _prank_.”

“It doesn’t matter, I’m not going to conspire with your antics and I’m _not_ going to let you get away with this.” Despite reeking like liquor along with his whole worldview upside down, Saihara’s tone flipped to something more authoritative, like some clichéd protagonist.

Beads of sweat started to form on Ouma’s face. “Oh no, the Big Bad Detective is going to thwart my plans! I-I don’t stand a chance! I should just turn myself in right now!” he wailed as he threw a hand to his forehead, pretending to faint.

“Ouma-kun…” Saihara huffed out a sigh, not at all surprised that he wasn’t taking this seriously.

“But I won’t make it _that_ easy. It wouldn’t be fun then!” Ouma approached the other boy until their faces were near inches from each other. “ _So if you want me…_ you gotta catch me first!” And with that, he poked Saihara in the stomach and darted out of the room.

“O-Ouma-ku—!”

Saihara couldn’t be bothered to finish as instinct kicked in. He rolled off and chased after the Supreme Leader, his mind completely forgetting about why he holed himself away from everyone— for better or for worse, Saihara’s sights were now set on Ouma.

It didn’t occur to the detective that they were now outside until a breeze blew past them, goosebumps spotting as the movement caused his clothes to cling to his skin. Ouma skirted a corner of the house, but Saihara was on his tail. He wasn’t going to give up now… that is before he bumped into a soft white wall.

“Spade! Save me!” cried out Ouma, slipping himself behind the man.

“Geh!” Saihara staggered back, discovering the wall to be a man dressed similar to Ouma—his black hair smoothed down and his face anonymized. “S-Sorry! Er-so, _you’re_ Spade?”

“Yes. What about it?” Spade asked cocking his head, feigning interest.

“This little eavesdropper turned an ear to our plan, and now he thinks he can stop us.” Ouma returned from his hiding spot, a devious smirk covering his face.

“Does he, now?”

Folding his arms behind him, Spade took a step forward and leered over the boy, examining him through the holes of his mask. Saihara reflexively shrunk, he wasn’t that much taller than him, but the way he poised himself made Saihara feel like the grass suddenly turned into eggshells.

“Well, I—”

“ _But_ I convinced him to collaborate with us!” Ouma interjected.

“Wha-huh?! I-I didn’t agree to anything!” Saihara sputtered, flailing his hands to further emphasize his statement. 

“Yeah, ya did, Saihara-chan! No taksies-backsies!” Ouma wagged a finger in contempt.

“Hey! What’s all the commotion?” Another masked man wearing a near identical outfit came jogging up to the group, his blonde locks soaring well above his head. “Did someone blow our cover?”

“Nope!” Ouma waltzed over to the detective and slung an arm over the boy’s shoulders. “Just recruited some extra help!” He turned and gave him a wink.

“Oh, well welcome! The name’s Club.” He extended his hand, which Saihara hesitated to grab, but eventually met him halfway.

_Zzzap!_

“Ah!”

“Hahaha!” Club waved the button strapped to his palm. “Gets them every time! So what job ya got?”

Saihara stood there, suffering from the mental whiplash he got from meeting such a colorful, chaotic cast of characters. He thought his sanity couldn’t wane any further; however, Saihara still had a crumb of fervor left in him that wanted to purvey justice.

“My job is to report each one of you to the proper author—hmpf!”

“He’ll be with Braids and I,” Ouma answered, muffling the detective’s true intentions as he carted off his unwilling accomplice.

“Alright! Have a blast making all those doofuses look like a pastry disaster!” Club snickered as he and Spade waved the bickering pair goodbye.

~~~

This wasn’t what he had in mind tonight.

“Hey, can you pass me the sprinkles?”

His brows furrowed, a layer of dust and cobwebs caked his hands. This wasn’t what he had in mind at all.

”Hey, pass the sprinkles.”

The floorboards creaked as Ouma and Braids prepared for the confectionary sneak attack. Right beside the Leader of D.I.C.E. was Saihara, showing no effort to conceal his sulking. 

After meeting Club and Spade, he threatened Ouma that he’d call the cops on them. It was only natural for him to then pickpocket his phone, leaving Saihara with no choice but to be dragged back into the attic— Ouma giving him kudos for finding such an optimal vantage point.

”Hellooo?”

Ouma leaned over and sandwiched a bit of the boy’s skin between his fingers and pressed down hard.

”Ow! What was that for?” 

“For ignoring me, Saihara-chan!” Ouma answered, sounding insulted. “This is the prefect opportunity for you to shed that goody-two-shoes persona for one night and finally take some revenge!”

“Revenge isn’t going to solve anything,” Saihara said, making eye contact with him. “I’m not going to stoop to their level.”

“But you’re not stooping to their level, just bruising their egos a little bit. Can’t be any worse than what _She_ did to you.” Ouma brushed the bug carcasses off the sill and unlatched the window.

”You… saw that...?” he trailed off, casting his gaze.

”Of course! Everyone saw it!”

Sinking his nails into his palms, Saihara started shaking, the air becoming too thick for him to breathe in as a lump of coal formed inside his throat. He didn’t think he could feel any worse than he was, but tonight kept proving him wrong.

“Doesn’t mean you deserved it, though. Those assholes couldn’t even be bothered to help you; so you shouldn’t let them off without _some_ consequence.” Ouma sat next to him again, a smidge closer this time.

”No... I just... I can’t...” the detective’s voice wavered.

He didn’t exactly know what to say to Ouma. He’d be lying if he said that their actions didn’t deserve some reprimand, but the risk, the legal ramifications, the morality of it all— were things which kept that tinge of temptation to indulge in such mischief at bay.

”Saihara.”

The seriousness in Ouma’s tone halted his thoughts, the sudden drop in honorifics causing Saihara to meet his gaze.

Ouma searched his face, carefully choosing his words before he started, “We don’t... hurt people, Saihara, they’re just harmless pranks. Stuff like this will wash out easy.” He then placed a hand on Saihara’s shoulder. “Trust us, we’re professionals at this! Guaranteed we won’t let you get caught.” Flashing him a smile, Ouma’s features softened the longer he idled at the detective.

Braids shuffled over to the both of them and motioned with her hands.

”Ah... I don’t know sign language, sorry,” Saihara said.

Ouma turned to her and signed back before redirecting his attention. “She said that hurting people is a hard rule among our organization D.I.C.E. At best the pranked person may laugh with us, at worst we ruin their day, but not their entire life.” 

The member nodded, the two braids framing her mask moving along in tandem. She signs something again.

”She’s saying that it sounds like you’ve been terrorized enough and that: ‘It’s time to give them a taste of their own medicine, Saihara-chan’,” Ouma translated, almost snickering at her statements. 

Saihara wanted to snicker too, she was much bolder than he assumed when he first encountered her. “I guess I’d be lying if I said this idea wasn’t... _interesting_. But-uh… how’d you know my name? And that this wasn’t the first incident?”

”Oh...” Braids turned to him, her words coming out soft and slow, “The Boss talks about you a lot.”

Frantic, Ouma’s eyelids flew open as he flailed his hands about trying to sign something back to her. It could be the fatigue getting to him, but Saihara could’ve sworn he saw the Supreme Leader’s face dusted in a nice shade of pink. He couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Anyways!” Ouma pipped up. “The witching hour is upon us, so are ya in?”

“I...” Saihara stopped himself. He _wanted_ to say yes, to finally stick it to the ones who humiliated him and to those of whom that stood by and ate it up. It was just whipped cream and sprinkles, completely harmless like they said. They’d probably forget about it by morning, but for him, he’ll remember it as his little secret payback. Plus, with D.I.C.E. on his side, there was nothing to lose. “I’m in.”

“Alright! This is gonna be great!” And with that, Ouma whipped out his phone to knock that first proverbial domino down.

Saihara felt as Braids placed an object into his hand: a bottle of sprinkles. Tossing it around in his palm, he took note of the distinct bright pastels and shapes. The whole assortment looked so overwhelming, but in some unexplainable way, made sense at the same time.

 _Heh, kinda like D.I.C.E.,_ Saihara mused.

“Thanks.” He offered her a kind smile. There was no way to tell, but he’d like to think that she gave him one back.

“They’re filing out.” Ouma’s low tone called their attention. “Get ready.”

Peering down, Saihara witnessed as the crowd made its way out into the backyard, their confused, frustrated mummers reaching his ears. A second later, someone started to yell, throwing profanities that would make any sailor blush as they stomped out onto the lawn. There wasn’t any question who that could be.

The whirring of a can be heard as Ouma doled out a generous mountain of whipped cream onto Saihara’s hand. “Wanna do the honors?” he asked him, the corners of his mouth curling upwards as his purple eyes swirled with excitement.

“I’d be happy to, Ouma-kun,” he answered, his facial features perking as the tension crescendoed.

Anticipation seemed to entrance Ouma as he followed Saihara’s eyes, him calculating the right moment to strike...

...And then it happened.

The whipped cream struck Iruma like an overzealous pastry chef, leaving no mercy as it ran down her long stands of hair and onto her outfit. The two shared looks, Saihara failing to hold a straight face as Ouma’s smile became infectious.

Iruma, though drunk and pissed off, was no idiot, food doesn’t magically fall from the sky. Just as she was about to find the culprits, a stream of water from the corner of the house hits her face, disorienting her.

”Don’t hold back!” Ouma said as Braids and him begun flinging handfuls of cream at the rest of the partygoers.

Screams erupted as panic and confusion plagued the crowd, Iruma’s demands for everyone to shut up not making things any better. The three switched between throwing the cream and garnishing the other person’s handful with sprinkles. At a certain point, Ouma started to just dump entire bottles of the stuff onto some poor unsuspecting drunk below as Braids sent out streamers of whipped cream straight from the can.

Saihara was trembling, but in a good way this time— the delicate balance between risk and reward giving him a rush like no other. To think that tonight was going to lead him to do this was something he never would of expected, but... he definitely wasn’t complaining.

“Run!” Ouma shouted, slamming the window shut as he takes Saihara’s hand.

Braids was already gone by the time they hopped down into the laundry room. The two ran as fast as their legs could carry them as they made their way through the front door, Saihara going in whatever direction Ouma pulled him in. Once he felt safe enough, Ouma stopped behind a pair of shrubs and squatted, bringing his partner-in-crime down with him. They took the next few moments catching their breaths.

”What have I done? What _have_ I done?” Saihara spiraled. “I’m... I’m gonna go to jail. Oh my god.”

”Nooo you’re nooot,” Ouma huffed and rolled his eyes. “If that we’re the case, they would’ve threw me in years ago! So you’re _fine_ , Saihara-chan.”

Saihara nervously tinkered with the buttons on his shirt. “I’ll t-take your word for it.” Turning his head, he looks up at him before trailing down. “Is there a reason why you’re still holding my hand?”

”N-No reason!” Snatching his hand away, it was now Ouma’s turn to mess with the buttons on his own outfit.

Saihara scratched the back of his head as he averted his gaze. “I guess I should go find Momota-kun now.” A tinge of disappointment within his voice.

”Aww, tired of me already? Well before you go, you’ll need this.” Ouma brandished a can of whipped cream. He dispensed a huge pile of it then plopped it on top of Saihara’s head, making sure to lather it in his hair and smear it all over his face. “You’d stick out like a sore thumb if you looked too clean.”

”You’re right. But hey,” Saihara began, a slight grin tugging at his lips. “You could say they got their... _just deserts._ ”

The Supreme Leader sat there and blinked, looking as if he wanted to simultaneously slap him and cry laughing at such a horrible pun. Instead he giggled and giggled, until the other boy started to giggle, which made him giggle even harder.

”God that was terrible,” Ouma said in between laughs. “Buuut I could be lying about that.”

”No, it _was_ terrible,” he conceded after regaining his composure. With the rush of tonight’s events still coursing through him, Saihara felt bold enough to reach over and brush a strand of hair from Ouma’s face. “But thank _you_ for making my night a little less terrible.”

The other boy froze, the last of his laughter catching in his throat. “I...”

Ouma shielded his face away and dipped his hands into his pockets once more. Twisting back around, he pressed a container into his hand.

”A keepsake,” he said. “Something to remember your first collaboration with D.I.C.E.!”

The detective looked down, but Ouma’s hands refused to move. He met his gaze, the boy’s deep violet eyes peering right into his, his face redder than last time, causing Saihara’s cheeks to also flare up. Neither of them could say a word, not even a sound as the seconds stretched into an unspoken staring content between the two. The world around them faded into the subconscious, and, in that brief moment, they only saw the other— their muse.

It happened in an instant, Saihara breaks the eye contact and suddenly something warm and plush hits his cheek, stunning him like a deer in the headlights as his eyelids fluttered open. But once he looked back, Ouma was already half a block away.

”See ya later Saihara-chaaan!” Ouma shouts, his voice ringing out into the night.

Saihara parted his lips, filling it with silence as he brings a shaky hand to touch his cheek.

 _Did he just...?_ Saihara questioned, his mind scrambling to process what had just happened— his blush deepening at the thought.

With his other hand, his fingers wrapped around the container, hearing tiny pieces clatter inside against the plastic, he looks down at his gift from Ouma— from D.I.C.E.

A bottle of Sprinkles.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading my one shot of these two adorable characters w/a special dash of D.I.C.E.!
> 
> I’m always looking to improve my writing, so if you have any comments or constructive criticism to give I’d be happy to hear them! ^^


End file.
